


And a Sherlock Holmes in a Pear Tree

by SCFrankles



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Christmas, Community: watsons_woes, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 17:15:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2819984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SCFrankles/pseuds/SCFrankles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson just wants to spend a quiet Christmas at home with Mary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And a Sherlock Holmes in a Pear Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Watson's Woes](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/) on LJ: for the prompt for December 2014, [Holiday Whump](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/1219139.html).
> 
> Holmes and Watson were created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
> 
> * * *

It had been a busy December for Dr. Watson. He had his practice to deal with, of course, but he had also spent every spare moment assisting Holmes with his own increased workload. Though Watson was grateful to be earning a living and it was always a joy to accompany Holmes on his cases, there had simply not been much time to spend with Mary.

So Watson had been firm. He could not stop his patients from being ill, but on Christmas Eve he told Holmes that no matter what, he would not be available for the next two days. Then the servants went home to their families, and Watson and Mary spent a quiet and happy Christmas Day just on their own.

And now it was evening in the Watson household. The doctor and his wife were settled together by the fire: Watson with a novel, for once reading about other people’s thrilling adventures. And Mary was working on a new piece of embroidery, the linen and silks a present from an old teacher. They had both smiled about Miss Beattie’s choice of design. ‘The Ten Commandments’. Mary had been teased by her husband about what kind of a pupil she had been for her former tutor.

Watson looked up from his novel and glanced across at Mary who was concentrating on her work, completely engrossed. He smiled. Everything was simply perfect. He felt full of the peace and love connected with this holy day—good will to all mankind resting in his heart.

Suddenly there was a firm knock at the front door.

“Who the bloody hell is that?” exclaimed Watson.

Mary looked up laughing. “I hope it isn’t a patient. I would prefer not to lose your good-natured companionship.”

Watson pulled a face. “I shall go and see.”

He was back before long, not with a patient but with a visitor.

“Mr. Holmes…” said Mary, surprised.

Holmes bowed. “I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he said. “I thought I would drop in and wish you the compliments of the season.”

“It is Christmas Day,” said Watson, giving Holmes a significant look.

Holmes appeared perplexed. “Surely that is the time to wish people the compliments of the season.”

Her husband might have been flirting with bad manners but Mary had attended an excellent boarding school.

“No, of course, we’re pleased to see you, Mr. Holmes—we simply thought you might be too busy for the Christmas festivities.”

“Well, I am in the middle of a case.” Holmes glanced back into the passageway. “But we have reached a point at which we can do no more until the morrow, and we were passing so…”

“’We’?” enquired Mary.

“My companion is just hanging up his cape,” said Holmes. “Ah, here he is. May I introduce Sergeant Stanley Hopkins to you?”

And a young policeman entered the room: tall, dark-haired, dashing and handsome.

“Gosh,” said Mary. “I mean—how do you do?”

Holmes smiled at the sergeant. “As Watson was unavailable I asked Hopkins if he could help me. And he has been of great assistance in this case. A highly intelligent young man—I have great hopes for his future. I can see him as an inspector in a few years.”

Hopkins blushed. “You are too kind, Mr. Holmes,” he said.

“Oh, tsh.” Holmes beamed at Sergeant Hopkins.

Sergeant Hopkins beamed at Holmes.

Holmes beamed at Sergeant Hopkins.

“Yes. Right,” said Watson. “I’ll just go and ask Mrs. Watson if there are any refreshments that we can offer you.”

And he made his way back to his wife’s side. Mary was gazing across at Holmes and Sergeant Hopkins with a faraway look in her eye.

“He’s rather striking, isn’t he?” she whispered, with what might have almost been a sigh. “Mr. Holmes’ companion.”

“Dearest,” said Watson, looking down at her needlework. “You appear to have embroidered ‘Thou shalt not commit adultery’ twice.”

Mary looked down at her lap. “Oh, dear. So I have.” She stuffed her work down the side of the armchair, blushing somewhat. “I shall unpick it later.”

However, her husband’s mind was elsewhere. “We ought to offer them something now they’re here. Is there anything left?”

“Oh, yes—there’s plenty of Christmas cake left in the larder,” said Mary.

Watson winced ever so slightly.

Mary rose. “I’ll fetch it, and some wine too. You stay and entertain our visitors.”

She made her way out of the room, Holmes and Hopkins bowing to her as she went. But she had barely exited when there was _another_ knocking at the front door. Watson heard his wife answer it and speak to the new arrival, and then she came back into the sitting room with an agitated Mrs. Hudson, the landlady still in her coat.

“Good evening, Doctor,” said Mrs. Hudson, a little breathless. “I am sorry to bother you.”

“Good gracious!” cried Watson, hurrying towards her. “Is something amiss?”

However, Mrs. Hudson had already turned to speak to Holmes. “I came in the hope that Dr. Watson would know your whereabouts, sir. It was such a relief when Mrs. Watson told me you were here.”

She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket. “This was delivered for you. The messenger was most insistent that it was urgent and should be put into your own hands without delay.”

“Well, let us see what was important enough for the sender to spoil your Christmas Day.” Holmes unfolded the note and quickly scanned it. There was a brief snort of laughter and Holmes passed the note to Hopkins. Hopkins looked at the note and frowned.

“It’s from Lestrade,” explained Holmes to Mrs. Hudson. He looked over at Watson. “The man is simply being dramatic. In truth, the course of action he’s suggesting would be best left until tomorrow.”

Mrs. Hudson’s face fell. She turned to Mary. “I’ve disturbed you for nothing, Mrs. Watson. But I thought I was acting for the best.”

Mary touched her arm. “I would have done exactly the same,” she said. “And now you must take off your coat and have something to eat and drink. I was just going to bring refreshments for everyone else.”

Mrs. Hudson appeared uncertain and she glanced at Dr. Watson.

“Yes, of course you must,” said Watson, politely.” “The more the merrier.”

As if on cue, there was a knocking at the door. Watson and Mary stared at each other.

“I’ll answer the door,” said Watson. “Dearest, you take Mrs. Hudson’s coat and then you had better go and fetch the cake. It looks as though we’re going to need it.”

 

He opened the door to find Lestrade standing on the step, quivering with excitement.

Watson sighed.

“Holmes and your sergeant are in the sitting room,” he said. And he turned and led the way back.

 

“Mr. Holmes!” declared Lestrade, as soon as he had bustled into the room. “Thank heavens I’ve found you! When I didn’t get a reply from my note immediately, I decided I had better track you down myself. As I told you, we have found Edwards—we must go and arrest him at once!”

Holmes looked sternly at the inspector. “I had already deduced that Edwards would risk returning home for the celebrations—the man is a thug but sentimental. However, you must do nothing tonight. Presently he is surrounded by friends and family who would be perfectly willing to attack us, and help him slip away. But early tomorrow morning he will be alone as he attempts to leave quietly. That is when we should strike. “

“But…” said Lestrade.

“No,” said Holmes. “There is no need to interrupt either his Christmas or your own.”

Lestrade hesitated. “Well, if you’re certain...” He heard movement behind him and stepped out of Mary’s way as she entered the room bearing a tray.

“Do allow me to put that on the sideboard for you, Mrs. Watson,” said Lestrade.

Mary smiled and allowed him to take it from her. “Thank you so much, Inspector,” she said. “Will you stay for a slice of cake now you are here?”

“I think I will!” said Lestrade. “It looks delicious!”

“You’re so charming!” said Mary.

“And in need of spectacles,” muttered Watson.

Mary looked at her husband. “Just open the wine, would you, _dear?”_

Watson looked back at her. “Sounds like an _excellent_ idea, my love.”

“So our _guests_ may have a drink,” said Mary, smiling somewhat fixedly.

 _“Naturally,”_ said Watson. He wielded the corkscrew, opened the bottle and poured out a glass. He passed it to Mary, who held it out to his former landlady.

“Mrs. Hudson, will you have the first..?”

There was a knock at the door.

Seemingly on instinct, Mary swallowed down the glass of wine she was holding. She then lowered the glass and stared at it, as though puzzled as to where the contents had disappeared to. She turned to Watson, who raised his eyebrows at her.

“Yes, well…” She thrust the glass at Watson. “You replenish Mrs. Hudson’s glass and I’ll go and answer the door.”

 

She returned with a middle-aged woman, who was making a dignified attempt not to weep in company.

Mary introduced her to everyone. “This is our neighbour, Mrs. Anstruther. She has popped round for…” Mary appeared to think hard for a moment. “…my Christmas cake recipe.” And Mary eased Mrs. Anstruther towards the fire and sat her down in her own armchair.

“I’m so sorry for bothering you, Mrs. Watson,” said Mrs. Anstruther, giving into the tears. “Today of all days. But Dr. Anstruther and I have had an awful row, and I told him I never wanted to see him again and I didn’t have anywhere else to go…”

“Please don’t concern yourself, Mrs. Anstruther,” said Mary. “You can sit and take a little wine until you feel a little calmer and then we can see what is to be done.”

She edged away towards her husband, who had followed and was standing awkwardly nearby. “She could have the spare room, if necessary,” Mary whispered.

Watson glared at her. “If she gets the spare bedroom, I’m leaving _you.”_

Mrs. Watson frowned at Watson and returned to Mrs. Anstruther. “Now, will you have your wine and cake here in front of the fire?”

Mrs. Anstruther dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “Do you know, I think I would prefer to be with the rest of the party, if that would be all right. I think I would feel better with other people.”

“Yes, of course.” And Mary escorted her back to the rest of their guests, furnishing Mrs. Anstruther with refreshments before she discreetly made her way back to Watson.

“Try to be polite,” she said. “Remember it’s the season of peace and good will to all men.”

Watson opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by yet another knock at the front door. He gave his wife a disbelieving look, and then rummaged around down the side of her armchair and pulled out her embroidery.

He stared at the partly completed design.

“John..?” said Mary.

“Just reminding myself of something,” said Watson.

Mary nodded sympathetically. “’Thou shalt not take the Lord’s name in vain’?”

“’Thou shalt not kill’,” said Watson.

He went to answer the door.

 

Watson was soon back with Dr. Anstruther, who strode across the room to his wife.

“Ethel!” he called. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“Oh, of course, Cuthbert! Of course!” Mrs. Anstruther threw herself into her husband’s arms and the tears started up again.

The gathered throng smiled at one another at this sign of spousal devotion. Mrs. Hudson looked a little tearful herself, and Hopkins had to turn away to discreetly blow his nose.

Watson cleared his throat. “Well, that’s wonderful,” he said. “So I’m sure you’ll both want to be getting home again…”

But the lovebirds paid him no heed.

“It was all my fault! We didn’t need brandy butter! I shouldn’t have brought it up!” cried Dr. Anstruther.

“No, no! You were correct! What is a Christmas pudding without brandy?!” sobbed Mrs. Anstruther.

“Excellent,” said Watson. “And now that is sorted out…”

“All I need for a splendid Christmas is your company!” declared Dr. Anstruther.

“Cuthbert!”

The neighbour and his wife fell into a passionate embrace.

There was a pause then as the rest of the company found the ceiling fascinating.

Eventually the Anstruthers separated, and Mary gave them both a weary smile.

“Some cake and wine before you go?”

 

Watson stomped off back to the fireplace and slumped down in his armchair. Mary followed him and sat down opposite in her own.

Watson glowered at her.

She frowned back. “It will just be for a little while,” she said. “Surely they all won’t want to stay too much longer.”

“Oh, I’m entirely resigned to it now,” said Watson. He sighed. “More and more people will arrive until the house is overflowing. It’s inevitable now. We’ll never have any peace and quiet ever again.”

“John, please,” said Mary. “Don’t be so melodramatic.”

There was a knocking at the front door.

Watson nodded sadly at his wife. He got up with his shoulders slumped, walked through his happy band of guests and went to see who it was this time.

 

It was Andrew, Dr. Anstruther’s page boy.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” said Andrew, addressing himself to his master. “But Mr. Cartwright’s daughter has sent word: Mr. Cartwright has had a nasty turn and wishes to see you immediately.”

Dr. Anstruther looked at his wife. “It’s probably nothing, dear but I ought to go.”

“Yes, of course, you must,” said Mrs. Anstruther.

“No!”

Everyone turned to look at Watson. A wide and disconcerting grin had suddenly appeared on his face.

He damped down the smile and cleared his throat. “I mean, no, you should stay and spend a little time with your wife. I shall go for you. Mr. Cartwright knows me—I have visited before on your behalf.”

Dr. Anstruther’s eyes widened. “Oh, I couldn’t make you do that. On Christmas Day… And it truly will be nothing. Mr. Cartwright will need a little reassurance but he will be in no danger.”

“I _insist,”_ said Watson.

He patted Andrew on the head. “You stay and have some cake, eh?” Then Watson turned to his wife, who was staring at him. “Mary..?” He indicated the door.

Mary followed him out of the room, and closed the door behind her before she spoke. “If you think you are going to abandon me here…”

Watson turned to face his wife. “No, indeed. In fact, dearest, I wonder if you would do me the honour of accompanying me on the visit to this patient.”

Mary glanced back towards the room containing their friends and neighbours—the room which contained such joy and merriment.

“I would be delighted,” she said.

She snatched up her hat and coat, Watson found his and together they galloped out of the house.

 

Once outside they strolled together hand in hand in the direction of the Cartwright home.

“It is nice to get away for a while,” sighed Mary.

“We can do a little better than that,” said Watson. “We shall go and do our Christian duty by Mr. Cartwright and then…” With a flourish, Watson pulled a key out of his pocket. “I’ve never quite remembered to give this back to Mrs. Hudson. As everyone else is here, we’ll find ourselves a cab and go and have a bit of peace at Baker Street for a while.”

“You know, that sounds like an excellent idea,” said Mary.

She looked across at her husband and smiled.

“Happy Christmas, John.”

Watson beamed back. “Happy Christmas, beloved.”


End file.
